


You Belong to Me

by alwayssomethingelse



Series: Shower of Drabbles [2]
Category: Carol (2015) RPF, The Price of Salt - Patricia Highsmith
Genre: Abusive Ex, Canon Lesbian Relationship, Drabble Collection, F/F, Post-Canon, character strengthening, drunk ex, ex husband angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-30
Updated: 2016-03-30
Packaged: 2018-05-30 05:05:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6410008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alwayssomethingelse/pseuds/alwayssomethingelse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An unexpected caller gives Carol the chance to experience Therese's development before her eyes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Belong to Me

Therese pauses in her chopping of carrots as the doorbell shrills over Joni James’ mournful notes. She had bought the record out west, hadn’t been able to play it when she came back to New York. It had lain in the bottom of her suitcase, hidden under her bed, for months. Now, of course, it’s different. The player is in the sitting room, but the music travels well.

“Are we expecting someone?” 

“I don’t think so.” Carol rinses her hands, rubs them against her apron, before slipping it over her head and dropping it on the table. “I’ll get it.” At the door, she turns back. “Be a dear and stop the music?” 

Therese smiles and nods, skipping a step to catch up with her; lays her hand on Carol’s back for a split second before turning away as Carol continues to the front door. She catches a glimmer of a wink, and her heart catches just as it did that first day. Not just the same, she corrects herself. Then there was no clarity, no understanding of what this feeling might mean. The bell peals again.

“Coming!” Carol calls, as Therese lifts the needle and the song abruptly disappears. 

She’s not sure why, but suddenly apprehension floods Therese. The urge to call out, tell Carol not to answer, not to turn the key... but even as she opens her mouth, the harsh tones of Harge, as she remembers all too clearly from their first meeting, drown out what she is sure are Carol’s recriminations. _You’re not supposed to be here. We didn’t arrange this. I’m not allowed to see Rindy ‘til next month_. 

“Why are you here?”

“Do I need to have a reason to see my wife?” He sounds boisterous, larger than life. Therese shivers, hugs herself. 

“You’re supposed to organise through Fred. You know that.” Carol’s voice is flat, rid of the playful light that has begun to ring through more often in the last few months. “You’re not supposed to come here."

In her mind’s eye, Therese can see them out in the foyer, Harge standing, proprietary, eyeing the space he hasn’t seen before; Carol, back pillar straight, in between him and the rest of the apartment. Her arms will be folded across her chest, her shoulders rigid. But it’s no good. Therese hears heavy steps, and the library door open.

“Sure is a nice place you’ve got. Aren’t you going to give me a tour?” His voice makes Therese shiver, as she slips out of view of the connecting door from the library. “Whassa matter Carol? You don’t look pleased to see me.” 

“Harge. You’re not supposed to be here. We have an agreement.” Carol’s voice is stony to all intents, but Therese thinks she can catch a hint of a tremble. 

“You’re my wife, I wanted to see you. Doesn’t our agreement allow for that?” His tone has given way to belligerence. “Don’t see why I can’t come and call with you. See how you are. See the mother of my daughter.” 

Therese frowns at the inherent threat, then stiffens as she sees Carol’s shadow cross the doorway. 

“I’m not your wife Harge. I haven’t been your wife for four months. And you are _not_ supposed to be here.” The tremble is more evident now, but so is Carol’s anger.

“Seems to me you don’t want me here Carol.” It sounds like ‘Carrl’ and Therese realises that, just as on the previous occasion, Harge is drunk. “Seems to me there's something...someone...you don't want me to see.” It’s a rough drawl, and Therese catches her breath as his shadow overtakes Carol’s across the threshold. She could run, she knows. Even now. Carol has been delaying him; it wasn’t that Therese had realised that from the moment he walked in, but she knows it now as if it had been obvious. Carol has been giving her time to escape, to hide in the closet, or even to exit through the service stairs leading out from the kitchen. Her heart pounds. 

“Now why would you not want me?” The shadow draws closer, larger, as Harge leers. 

In that moment, Therese steels herself, anger overwhelming, sudden, intense. How dare he? He knows. He knows full well why she doesn’t want him… Over her own heartbeat, she hears Carol sigh, a long drawn-out crushing sound. 

“Fine.” 

Therese has a moment to pull herself upright, to push her shoulders back, to become aware that her arms are crossed in an unconscious mimic of how she imagined Carol standing, and to decide to leave them like that. She glares at the doorway as Harge barrels through, dinner jacket askew, tie slack, perspiration gleaming on his temples. He stops short and Carol, coming behind, nearly walks into him. 

“What’s that _shopgirl_ doing here?” It comes out as a snarl.

“She lives here.” Carol slips through to stand facing him. At the same moment, Therese responds,

“I live here.” Her voice falters on the first notes, then, as she takes in Carol’s eyes, and the fear that, Therese thinks, only she can translate, hears it strengthen. 

Harge won’t even look at her. He turns to glare at Carol. “I’m not paying for you to keep a whore.” The word drops out into a dull silence. 

“I pay my share of the rent.” Therese flings back, furious. “I have more right to be here than you.” She feels Carol’s eyes on her, and, in the corner of her vision, sees they’re wide open in gratified shock. Strengthened, Therese crosses the room to the cigarette case, removes two and lights them, turning back to hand one to Carol. She remains standing at her side, effecting as much nonchalance as she can muster.

Swallowing, Harge backtracks. “Say honey, how about you give us a bit of space, eh? I’d like a private chat with my wife.” 

“She’s _not_ your wife.” Therese holds his gaze steady. “And besides, I don’t think she wants me to leave.”


End file.
